Delete
by PenForYourThoughts
Summary: Lions, emails, and confusion, oh my! (I might extend the story if people are interested.)
1. Chapter 1

Delete

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in a very long time, so please be kind.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters (and whatever else I'm supposed to put in a disclaimer).

_I didn't really know I loved you till you almost got eaten by those wild beasts today. Needless to say, we are never, ever going to the zoo again. Not in December, not in April, not in June. Never. The zoo is a horrible death trap. And it didn't help that you convinced that idiot of a zookeeper to let you into the cage to get a statement from the lions for your 'case'. I will most definitely be writing a strongly worded email to that man's supervisor. But I've gotten sidetracked. I love you – that's where I was going with that. I realized it as I stood there watching you run around the enclosure like a madman. I realized it as I slammed my fists against the glass to distract the felines from your bright red scarf trailing behind you. I realized it as you were guided out of the savannah-themed prison, shaking with terror and adrenalin. I love you, and I could kill you for being such an idiot. _

_Never again will I complain about your strange habits: the skull, the body parts in the freezer, the long hours of complete silence punctuated by loud swearing or random bits of song coming from your violin. I won't even get on to you about the smoking or occasional drug use. In fact, I might even join in if it means I get to spend more time with you. Just don't get yourself almost killed again. I'm not completely sure what I would do without you, but it wouldn't be pretty. _

_So here I am, giving you my heart, hoping you love me back. Please don't laugh (though I do love it when you laugh) or be awkward about this. Just tell me you love me, too._

_All my love and then some,_

_ John_

John stared at the email on the screen. There. He had spilled his guts in what he hoped was a very romantic way to the man he had been working with for the last few years. Never in his life had he felt so brave and spontaneous. Too bad he was going to delete it before he could work up an ounce of _real_ courage and send it to Sherlock. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed, as he fantasized about a world in which he wasn't afraid of rejection and hurt. A world where he boldly clicked 'send' on all his emails and never looked back. Sherlock would come into the room with teary eyes and pull John to him in a tight embrace. He would whisper sweet nothings in his ear and tell him how happy he was when he read the email. How happy he was to love John and be loved back.

Brown eyes snapped open as the daydream shattered, only to be replaced by glaring reality. 'Stupid, stupid son-of-a-bitch. Wake up before you actually do something stupid.' John angrily grabbed the mouse and moved it around the screen vigorously (just to show it who's boss), then clicked. DELETE. Well, shit…

"John, we have a problem." Sherlock's voice came floating from the doorway, dangerously low. He was staring down at his phone in shock, scrolling up and then down and then up again.

John's eyes flicked between the other man and his computer screen, which held the evidence of his hand's rebellion against him. 'Message sent' shone back at him, and he swallowed and looked away for good. "What seems to be the problem,… friend?" Yes, that sounded sufficiently not romantic. This was not the reaction his dream-Sherlock had given him, but how could he be surprised?

"This is not good at all. This is horrible. What the hell were you thinking?!" Suddenly, the man in the doorway was yelling. "Of all the irresponsible, idiotic things you could do, you chose this?" He was advancing on John, and his eyes were lit with an anger that, frankly, scared the older man.

'Play it off. Pretend it's no big deal – just a joke.' John stood up (after surreptitiously turning off his monitor). "Come on, f-friend, what's all the fuss about. I thought it was funn-"

"I have told you time and time again to change your passwords on a bi-weekly basis! Security is imperative in this business. And now you've gone and gotten your email hacked! Who knows what information that bastard could have by now. Look at this ridiculous message he sent." The phone was thrust into John's hands, and pretending to read the message for the first time gave him the opportunity to collect his thoughts. Sherlock didn't hate him. He wasn't disgusted by John's feelings, just his lack of security precautions! Quickly changing his relieved sigh into a gasp of horror, the doctor lifted his eyes to Sherlock's with what he hoped was an extremely scandalized look.

"Who would write this? Just the idea that I would feel… about you… Ha! It _is _ridiculous." Sherlock's eye twitched for some reason, but the rest of his face remained as indignant as before. Grabbing the phone, he stalked toward the door, yelling "Fix it!" before disappearing into the hallway and presumably his room.

John sat down heavily and leaned back, closing his eyes. He had a lot of work to do – belatedly staging and fixing a hacking problem was a tough job, but it was better than the alternative. Slipping back into dream mode, John relaxed into Sherlock's warm, strong embrace. Someday. Someday he would be brave enough.


	2. Chapter 2

The Underdog

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing (that could get me in trouble for copyright infringement).

Everyone loves an underdog – when they win. When said underdog sits there passively or gets chewed to bits by the much bigger dogs around him, not too many people are impressed. So perhaps the saying should be, "Everyone love an underdog that becomes a non-underdog and beats the shit out of its opponents."

John Watson is an underdog. He has an on-again, off-again limp, a roommate who hasn't yet heard that it's the fashionable thing this season to actually pay rent, and a rather stale job as a free-lance physician. He is not a king or a CEO or the quarterback on one of those profession football teams in America. Every morning starts the same – toast with whatever condiments Sherlock hasn't stolen as presents for his new girlfriend (yes, a girlfriend, but more on that later). Then a short shower and off to work.

Now is later. Sherlock's girlfriend. How to describe her? Short and angry and smelling of alcohol. She also has a strange need to exercise her inexplicable control over Sherlock. Whether it's having him steal apricot jam or buy her a ride on the mechanical unicorn outside the grocery store, she will find at least one ridiculous thing to make him do each time they are together. Yet another thing that makes John such an underdog – this is the girl his roommate chose… exactly three days after John accidentally made one of the most embarrassing confessions of love over email. Fortunately, he patched everything up, caught the "hacker" who sent the ridiculous message, and is now back to being a normal, heterosexual co-dweller. But still, really Sherlock?

Jessie, the aforementioned dictatorial girlfriend, walks into the living room as John is about to leave. Rubbing her hands across her face in a decidedly unattractive manner, she snorts at his choice of wardrobe (a black button-down and black slacks) and asks, "Who died?"

"Sherlock's sanity." The reply is mumbled but clear enough for Jessie to guess. The glare he receives causes John to leave the apartment a little faster than usual. Running down the stairs and into the street, he knocks into one of the bratty neighbor kids. The boy gives him a dirty look and a 'you-want-to-start-something?' arm gesture that gives him a view of the kid's tank top. 'Come at me bro' is plastered in neon letters on the chest. He just got come-at-me-bro'ed by a twelve year old.

Yes, John Watson is an underdog who is most definitely not winning any time soon.


End file.
